Speak Now
by atotalRPGfan
Summary: It's the day of Alistair and Anora's wedding and a certain Cousland is not happy about it. One-shot.


AN: Hey all! This is my first fanfic for Dragon Age(though it has been lying on my laptop for Maker only knows how long!). Just a fair warning, there are spoilers for the end of the game. The idea popped up when I saw that mod for the royal wedding, as well as the scene where Anora yanks her hand out of Alistair's in the one ending (How could she do that!) and I wanted to write a little fluff piece for just a silly, happy ending. Please keep in mind that this was written in a haze of sleep-deprivation, Taylor Swift and exam stress and is not at all intended to be taken seriously. Please let me know if you see any glaring spelling or grammar issues and let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy it! Disclaimer: I do not own Taylor Swift's music, Dragon Age or the characters. I'm just messing around in Bioware's sandbox. Rated T for language

**SPEAK NOW**

Enrica Cousland looked around the crowded ballroom with disgust. If it wasn't bad enough that she was forced to attend this damn farce of a wedding, Leliana and Wynne decided that she had to wear a dress instead of her armor. She was the damn Hero of Fereldan, not some Orlesian wallflower! They didn't even let her keep her damn dagger.

_Damn Wynne, Leliana, Alistair, Anora, Eamon, Loghain, Howe, yes I can blame this on him too, and anyone else who decided this was a good idea. Oh right. Damn me too. Damn me most of all._

If there really was a Maker, could he please send one of those lovely lightning bolts Alistair mentioned that one time? She would really love to be burnt to a crisp at that moment. Please? Oh, that's right. The Maker, if he existed, which she's strongly starting to suspect he does based on the **awful** luck she'd had during this damn Blight, hated her.

She really needed to enrich her vocabulary to include more words than "damn". Just a thought.

Oh, speaking of thought, what in the name of Andraste's flaming brazier was she thinking when she proposed that Alistair married that horrible harpy Anora? Oh, right. She wasn't thinking because she was so damn in love with the fool that's standing there looking so incredibly handsome and extremely nervous in front of the Chantry.

No, she did not want to march up there, rip off that damn golden armor and ravish him in front of all these people. No, she was not imagining him naked. No, she did not consider running into the damn dressing room to kill Anora.

She let out a strangled, frustrated cry, which made her neighbours look at her strangely. Which meant it was sounded really unhealthy, considering her neighbours were her brother, Fergus and Zevran, who'd seen both her in **very** bad situations.

"Are you all right, my dear Warden?" Zevran asked with a raised eyebrow.

No, damn it! She wasn't all right! She didn't want to see Alistair married to some other woman! She wanted to marry him! ARGH!

"I'm fine," she mumbled, but the assassin was unconvinced.

"My dear, Warden, I know you better than this. If it makes you feel any better, **he's **marrying Anora. That should prove to be sufficient torture for putting you through this. And if you wanted to do something more to spite him…I wouldn't object," he whispered with his flirty smile.

She merely grumbled and glanced around the room again. There's Wynne, Oghren, Leliana and even Shale showed up, though she's standing in the back. Everyone who fought with them during the Blight, except for Morrigan, who disappeared after Alistair impregnated her and Sten, who was probably plotting to invade Ferelden somewhere in the future. Such wonderful friends they had.

And there's Isolde. Bitch. If she hadn't had a major freak out and insisted that Alistair be sent to the Chantry, he wouldn't have become a Warden and she wouldn't have met him and she wouldn't have fallen head-over-fading-heels for him. Clearly, all this was Isolde's fault.

And Eamon of course. Bastard. He just had to put Alistair on the throne. He just had to convince Alistair that she, although being a fading **Cousland,** wasn't a suitable wife for him. This was his fault too. Why are they wearing colour co-ordinated outfits? Pale yellow does **not** work with your complexion, Isolde. Just saying.

Of course, she couldn't forget the **royal bastard** standing in front of the room. And she meant that in the nicest possible way. If Alistair hadn't been so damn amazing, sweet, kind, awkward and easily the hottest man she'd ever seen, she wouldn't be sitting here, wanting to rip out her own hair, which Leliana also insisted had to be styled and teased to the point that she'd wished she hadn't stabbed the archdemon with her longsword and could use it to impale the damn redhead.

Once more, everyone say it with her. ARGH!

And, of course, Anora is yelling, no, screeching, in the next room so that the entire Chantry could hear her. Enrica actually pitied her bridesmaids. Wait, scratch that, any woman stupid enough to agree to be a bridesmaid for that woman deserved to be yelled at.

Oh, how Enrica hoped she looked fat in her dress.

A crazy daydream suddenly jumped at her. She could still stop this whole charade. All she had to do was stand up when the Grand Cleric asked if anyone had any objections, rush forward, plant a huge kiss on that bastard's very attractive lips and yank him out of the room. How's that for an objection?

She **really** should have taken Oghren up on his offer for as much ale as she could drink without passing out. No one deserved this emotional anguish.

There is a subtle gesture from the Grand Cleric for the music to begin playing and Enrica shoots her own mental gesture at the groom. She seriously hoped she still had that "shooting daggers" look that made that maleficar in Redcliffe's dungeon wet himself.

Who decided that that should be the wedding march? It's damn depressing and it feels like she is attending a funeral. Which, technically, she is because, for those who haven't noticed, she is actually dying inside. Just so everyone is clear on that little, extremely painful, fact.

And here comes the bride. If she squinted and turned her head sideways, Anora did look fat in her dress and is that a birds nest in her head? She let out a little laugh, earning disapproving looks from those around her, except for her dear brother and very lovely assassin. She decided that when she went on her Chantry wide massacre, she will spare them, just because they didn't disapprove of the fact that she was having a **mental breakdown**.

Why is there never a cliff when you need one?

Because the Maker hates her so much, who else would decide to meet her gaze but groom. Maybe it was her imagination, but was that **regret** she saw twinkling in his totally gorgeous amber eyes?

_Yes, I wish it was me coming down that aisle too,_ she thought and gave him a sad, though encouraging smile. _By the way, I'm still in love with you, you royal bastard._

He returned her grimace with that smile that had made her heart melt the first time she saw it. Thankfully, due to Anora's seating arrangements, it looked as if he was smiling at his blushing bride. Something about the way she was shoved into the back chairs told Enrica that Anora **really** didn't want her there.

When the lovely bride-to-be was sashaying down the aisle, however, the lopsided grin changed into a chagrined sneer, which she only noticed because she knew Alistair better than anyone else in the Thedas. Suddenly, that daydream seemed even more appealing.

A-whore-a, which Enrica has promptly dubbed her in her mind reaches the front of the room without tripping on her ten metre train, much to Enrica's dismay. When Alistair reached to take her hand, however, she pulls away and stares forward.

_That does it. I'm taking my man back and you're not going to like it,_ she thought, gritting her teeth.

She waited for the Grand Cleric to say the words she'd wanted to hear. "If anyone has a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

"I do," Enrica heard her voice echo through the Chantry. She hadn't even known she'd said anything.

Slowly, balling her hands into fist to keep them from shaking, Enrica stood up from her chair. Everyone was staring at her, though it wasn't as if she wasn't used to it by now. The horrified instead of gratified expressions were a switch, however. But frankly, she didn't care. She only had eyes for Alistair, who was looking at her with a strange mix of emotions.

Her steps reverberated against the stone walls as she made her way to the altar. The Grand Cleric couldn't have looked more shocked if the First Enchanter had started doing a dance in his small clothes while professing his undying love for her.

"What is the reason?" her frail voice asked.

"Because I made a huge mistake. I should never have agreed to have this despot marry the most wonderful man I've ever known. And because, duh, I'm madly in love with the bastard," she replied looking Alistair straight in the eye. There were more than a few gasps at the word "despot" and "bastard" and all Enrica could think was, _Yeah, you hypocrites. You all called them that behind their backs but now that we're in front of the Grand Cleric, it's a scandal. Get over yourselves._

If the increased amounts of gasps were anything to go by, she didn't, like so many times before, keep those thoughts in her head, but rather blurted them out for the whole room to hear. Typical.

Fortunately for her, also like so many times before, Alistair came to her rescue by taking her into his arms, lowering her into a dip and giving her the most passionate kiss he'd ever given her, tongue and all. _Well screw you, A-whore-a_, was all her thoughts were capable of at that moment, due to the ministrations that were much too well done for a man that used to be a Chantry-boy.

When he finally let her up for air, she couldn't do anything but grin like an idiot. "Well, I guess that means I'm not marrying Anora today," he whispered ruefully into her ear.

"You could, but it might be extremely uncomfortable," was her reply, but someone clearing his throat brought them back to reality. And at that moment, reality included an extremely furious woman in a white dress.

"Um, I'm sure I'll have an amazingly witty reply later, but all I have now is "suck it, bitch, I win"," Enrica said with a sweet smile at the woman that looked ready to claw her eyes out. Alistair took her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"You know, as much as I enjoy watching you antagonize the nobles, let's get out of here, before Anora attacks you and forces you to kill her. Which, admittedly, would be very hot, but what I have planned for you can't wait until you've had time to clean the blood off your hands."

"Of course, your majesty," she replied and jumped into his arms, bridal-style. He gave her another deep kiss and she could faintly hear Eamon yelling at someone in the background, most probably the king who is kissing a woman who is decidedly not his new bride.

"Eamon, I've had enough of you trying to control my life. Does anyone else have a problem with me marrying the Hero of Fereldan?" Alistair asked in a very kingly voice, which, of course, Enrica found very attractive. Wait, did he say marry?

_Well, the Grand Cleric is already here and we are in the Chantry…why the hell not?_ was all she thought.

No other nobles made a sound and Alistair gave a pointed look at the Grand Cleric as if to say, _well, what are you waiting for?_ The grey woman let out a sigh and did what her king commanded. "I'm so glad you came," Alistair whispered with a wolfish grin while the woman spoke.

And, although that was not how most women imagined their wedding day, Enrica and her new husband were very glad that she was the type to interrupt a wedding.


End file.
